


25 Days of Draco and Harry

by Ladderofyears



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Advent Calendar, Boys Kissing, Christmas Cards, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Lights, Coffee In Bed, Drabble Collection, Hogwarts First Year, Husbands, Ice Skating, M/M, Malfoy Manor, Mild Smut, Winter Walks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 12:55:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21634951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladderofyears/pseuds/Ladderofyears
Summary: A series of interconnected drabbles where Harry attempts to convince Draco to adore Christmas as much as he does. Draco, of course, just loves Harry.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 101
Collections: 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2019





	1. The Advent Calendar

Draco burrowed further beneath the covers, entirely unwilling to face the prospect of the first of December. Advent meant that Christmas was officially on its merry old way which, in turn, meant that Harry would be _entirely_ too festive for his liking. 

It wasn’t as if Draco didn’t love Christmas; he truly did. 

Draco enjoyed the gingerbread men, the holly and he’d always loved gifts. Draco adored cuddling with Harry on the settee, watching Muggle movies that didn’t entirely make sense. Even putting up the tree was pleasurable. 

But Harry, though.

Harry was a man who adored Christmas. Decorations had to be handmade and personalised. The tree had to be precisely the correct shade of green, set with a special stasis charm that made it twinkle and shine for the entirety of the month. The bugger even sang Christmas songs in the shower which was quite the turn-off when Draco was trying to focus on Harry’s rather wonderful torso… 

It was fair to say their attitudes towards the festive season were somewhat different. 

Right now, Draco could hear his husband humming _Christmas Around The Cauldron_ and he felt the bed dip next to him. The aroma of coffee filled their bedroom with its luscious scent and Draco stirred, opening half an eye despite his better judgement. 

Potter, that Christmas-loving _fiend_ was already wearing a Santa hat, perched upon that ridiculous mane of hair. 

_Salazar_. It was enough to send a wizard to an early grave. 

“Father Christmas doesn't arrive for another twenty-four days,” Draco groused, sitting up and taking the coffee from Draco’s hands. “Until then, there’s one one magical chap I’m the slightest bit interested in.”

Harry laughed, a deep rumble of a sound. “Such a Christmas grouch, Malfoy. I knew you’d be grumpy this morning. You’re the same every year.”

Draco sipped his coffee and gave Harry his favourite withering glare, perfected since he was a boy and almost guaranteed not to have any effect on his husband. 

“Don’t give me that crosspatch face,” Harry said, swirling his wand. With a whoosh of magical green sparkles, a small glass jar flew directly into Harry’s hands. “Because this year I’m going to ensure you’ll love Christmas exactly as much as me. So I’ve made you an Advent Calendar.”

“An Advent Calendar?” Draco raised an eyebrow, placing his coffee carefully on their beside table. “It doesn’t anything like those chocolate things you get at Honeydukes, Harry. Although I have to admit, I always ate all of mine on the first day-”

“I know,” smirked Harry. “You’ve _never_ been a wizard able to say no to what you enjoy. My Advent is a series of activities, Draco. Whichever you pick will be our activity for the day.”

Draco rolled the jar around in his hand. It still thrummed with the residue of Harry’s familiar magic. An Advent Calendar. How uniquely _Harry_. A series of tiny pieces of parchment fluttered inside the emerald glass and even though he squinted, Draco couldn’t make out anything Harry had written. 

He sighed, intrigued despite his better judgement. 

“Always so romantic, Potter. I’ll play your Advent game. But only on one condition,” said Draco, sliding back the bedsheets. “You come back to bed.”

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He crawled into bed behind Draco and pulled their blanket up and over the pair of them. “Half an hour is all you get,” Harry grumbled, “and then we find out what our Advent has planned for us.”

“_Um mm_. Half an hour is all I need,” Draco answered, and he leant back to give Harry a long, loving kiss.


	2. A romantic winter stroll around Malfoy Manor Lake

Draco reread Harry’s dishevelled handwriting a second time, just to ensure his eyes weren't deceiving him. 

**_A romantic winter stroll around Malfoy Manor Lake_** was the Advent activity that Draco had chosen from the jar just moments earlier and he couldn’t quite believe Harry had written those words.

****

Usually, a visit to the Manor ranked somewhere alongside gnome wrangling and Ministry Fitness Reviews in Harry’s list of preferred activities. 

****

Still, Draco wasn’t about to look a gift Thestral in the mouth. “We are thinking about the same Lake, aren’t we Potter? The Lake that’s in the garden of _my_ ancestral home? The Manor where _my_ Father currently still resides?” 

****

Harry nodded, frowning into their shared wardrobe. 

****

“I only own one hat, Draco. One measly hat. Yet every time I open this bloody cupboard your clothes appear to have multiplied. I’d suggest some sort of rogue Doubling Spell but I’ve seen the receipts in your bureau…” As Draco watched, Harry gave up his search and _Accio’ed_ his winter hat with swirl of his wand, pulling it over his disreputable hair the moment it flew into his hands. 

****

Harry gave Draco a rakish smile in the mirror. 

****

“I certainly do mean the Manor Lake, my love. The aim of my Advent is to make Christmas obscenely romantic. So I thought we’d visit the site of our very first kiss. Plus, I might be able to swipe some Treacle Tart from the Manor kitchens. The crust on those things is delectable. Anyone’d think those Malfoy Elves were extra especially magic-’ 

****

~@~ 

****

If anything, the frosty Manor Lake was even more romantic than Draco could have imagined. 

****

A light layer of frost adorned the berries and holly leaves, while the lake itself was coated in a thin layer of ice. There was even the odd brave peacock milling around as the pair of them crunched along the path. Harry tried desperately to chase them and spell them warm but the foolish birds weren't having any of Harry’s magic. 

****

“Give it up,” Draco chortled, his breath visible, making small puffs in the cold. “_Merlin_. I do hope you’re better at chasing down dark wizards than you are chasing those poor old birds.” 

****

It was a little too cold to speak much but they’d loved each other long enough that words weren't necessary. Draco had forgotten his gloves so Harry graciously gave Draco one of his own. The pair of them tangled their bare fingers together, holding hands as they walked through the thin December sunshine. 

****

They soon found the enchanted oak tree where they shared their first kiss so many years before. Harry slid his arms around Draco’s waist, reeling him in for a slow, sweet kiss. 

****

And Draco couldn’t help but submit, pressing his mouth to enjoy Harry’s pliable lips. There was an intent to Harry’s kiss; a promise that Draco intended to collect as soon as they returned home. 

****

“I love you,” Harry murmured as he pulled away from their kiss. “More than I ever thought possible.” 

****


	3. Ice-Skating

“I’m afraid I think I’ve changed my mind,” Draco hissed, the panic rising from deep inside his chest. He clutched hard to Harry’s hands and tried to implore his husband to see sense. 

“I never imagined that _**ice-skating**_ might possibly be part of your Advent Calendar, Harry! I tried once when I was younger… Mother froze the surface of the Manor Lake but I was absolutely terrified the entire time. I do believe that I've got the wrong sort of legs for ice-skating, love. I’m sorry.”

Harry looked towards Draco, his dimpled face soft with amusement. 

“The _wrong sort of legs_ don’t exist. If your legs can ride a broom, then I promise they can skate around a rink.” Harry snaked a hand around Draco’s shoulders, brushing a quiet kiss against his blond hair. “I wouldn't ever fib to you Draco. I love you too much.”

“_Hmm mm_,” Draco said, turning his face towards his husband’s lips. “Not sure that’s entirely true. I know it was you that drank the last of my Ogden's. Ron told me. Anyway, I’m still not ice-skating. I’m a work of art, Potter and if I went out there, I’d be destroyed in less than five minutes. Bruised, battered… You’ll have to levitate me home.”

“Now you’re just being melodramatic,” Harry replied in a mock-exasperated voice. “Just look at all of the those couples, love. None of those are falling over and slipping up.” Draco’s eyes followed Harry’s own, and the pair of them gazed out across the ice-rink. Witches, wizards and elves skated merrily in circles and the combined frisson of their magic rippled across his skin. 

“Alright,” Draco reluctantly accepted. “I’ll try ice-skating this with you, but if I slip or fall or otherwise ruin myself on your head be it! You’ll be sleeping in the blood _shed_ until Christmas!” 

Harry grinned, transfiguring their boots into skates with a tiny twirl of his wand. He hopped out onto the ice and held his gloved hand out to Draco, who took it gingerly. 

Once Draco hit the ice he felt his legs wobble hazardously below him. A surge of terror struck as he tried to move his foot as if he were walking, only to feel it slipping out from beneath him. 

“_Harry!_” he cried as he half-fell and had to grab the front of his husband’s coat. It was quite the most inelegant that Draco thought he’d even been been in public. “I can’t bloody move!”

“Merlin,” Harry laughed, “I knew you find me irresistible but you can’t seen to let me go today. Let’s get moving. You’ll get used to it, love. I’ve cast some cushioning spells, just in case.” Harry helped Draco back into a standing position. “Time to do this, Malfoy. We’re blocking other skaters.”

Draco wanted to protest, he truly did but before another word could escape him Harry had moved them forward. His strong hands were confident and he kept an arm around Draco’s waist, supportive and steady. Maybe- just _maybe_\- this ice-skating might not be so dreadful. After all, Draco reasoned, it wasn’t as if he could have Harry best him at anything. He studied Harry’s movements and imitated them as well as he could. In no time at all, the pair of them were gliding along, their fingers knotted lightly together. Draco discovered that skating wasn’t all that much different to ballroom dancing, a skill that he excelled at; indeed, the slick of the ice made every movement even faster and more enjoyable. 

“I suppose this ice-skating is tolerable,” Draco whispered into his husband’s ear, before leaning over to press a kiss onto Harry’s cold cheek. “I admit that it’s far more delightful than my childhood self would ever have believed.”

“Oh, I think there’s a fair few things that you enjoy _mightily_ that your childhood self might have somewhat of an issue with,” Harry replied, giving Draco a saucy wink before dropping his hand. 

“Race you to the mulled wine stall Draco! Loser gets to buy!”


	4. The Muggle Christmas lights

“_**The Muggle Christmas lights**_?” Draco read aloud, wondering slightly whether his husband had gone a little soft in the head. 

A touch of impairment was to be expected, Draco ruefully supposed. After all, Harry had gotten hit by a few stray hexes in the course of his Auror duties over the last few years. 

_Gods_. It was surely the only reason for such an awful Advent suggestion. 

“Muggle London means no wands,” Draco warned darkly, shuddering at the mere thought. “And no wands means no warming charms in December. My feet will freeze and _fall off_, Potter. They’re still sore from the skating yesterday! We’d have to walk there too… Or use public transport. I can’t think that even the drunkest Christmas Muggle would readily accept the sight of us apparating into the midst of their celebrations! I dread to think how the Muggles celebrate Christmas. When you consider the shambles of their Samhain festivities I dread to think how they’ll botch Yule-”

“Salazar,” Harry interrupted, sitting on their settee to pull on his boots, “you sound just like Lucius, darling. Luckily for you, I didn’t marry your illustrious father but instead pledged my eternal life and love to _you_ instead. It’s a pretty poor do if two full grown men can’t manage a couple of hours without magic Draco! We’ll get a hot chocolate, watch the choir… It’ll be fun. Better put your thick coat on though. It’s absolutely bloody freezing tonight.”

~@~

Muggle London was, of course, every bit the endurance test that Draco had envisioned. 

As much as he tried his damnedest to be open minded, there were parts of non-magic existence that Draco didn’t think that he’d ever get used to. For example, those phones that Muggle folk had Epoximised to their hands every moment of their lives? So fiddly and complicated. Muggle clothes looked bright and outlandish too. The strange hum and buzz of electricity made Draco feel uncomfortable and headachy; he supposed it was a fact of Muggle life that one had to get used to. 

Still, Draco couldn’t help but notice that Harry seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. 

His husband’s features were open and laid-back, bathed in the flickering neons of the Muggle department stores and the greasy fast-food vans that were scattered along Camden Highstreet. Had the pair of them been walking around Wizarding London, Harry would have been stopped a dozen times by this point, hassled as he always was for autographs by fans and well-wishers alike. No doubt _The Prophet_ would have probably had wanted Harry’s photograph for the following day’s edition as well. 

The Muggle Christmas tree was nothing like the garish sight that Draco had envisioned. 

He’d expected something tasteless and cheap and this display was anything _but_. Non-magical folk packed closely around Harry and he as they got closer to the moment the lights would be switched on. Draco felt uneasy; nervous without his magic and the comfort of his wand. Harry sensed his disquiet and squeezed his hand tightly. “You’re alright, love,” Harry whispered into Draco’s ear, the words a warm rumble. “I’m not going to leave your side.”

All around them the Muggles were excited, full of an energy and focus that Draco hadn’t thought them capable of. There was a shiver of magic in the air and Draco felt it tickle the edge of his consciousness as the non-magical folk began their countdown. Harry kissed him tenderly as thousands of lights suddenly flickered into existence. 

To his utter surprise Draco found himself infused with a warmth that really wasn’t anything to do with the lights surrounding them. 

~@~

“Thank you for coming love,” Harry said later as they walked, cold and happy, back toward the Tube station. “I know that wasn’t a comfortable space for you. But watching those lights spark into life… Well. I was never allowed to as a child. My uncle and aunt. They worried that I’d make a fuss. Beg for sweets or some other such nonsense. Truthfully, I think they didn’t care for the responsibility of having to watch me.”

“It wasn’t anywhere near as bad as I'd dreaded,” Draco replied, feeling that same quick thrum of anger that always choked him whenever Harry mentioned his childhood. “Quite diverting really. I enjoyed it more than I thought… Wouldn’t have dreamt of eating any of that fast-food _bilge_ though. I’ll get the Elves to make us a snack when we’re home.”

Harry laughed at that. “For me, the best part of the whole evening was your company, Draco,” he declared, snaking his arm around Draco’s waist and looking at him with a soft, affectionate expression. “Finally sharing those lights with a person I love more than anything.”

“Such a soppy _git_,” Draco said, giving Harry a shake of his head, before he proceeded to kiss the look off his husband’s face.


	5. Visit Ron and Hermione at Ottery St. Catchpole

The snow had begun to several an hour before and already the trees and streets surrounding Grimmauld Place were adorned with several inches of pristine white. Ever though it was toasty warm in their lounge Draco felt a shiver tickle his skin. 

Draco was a wizard that truly loathed the feel of the cold. 

Unfortunately, his damned Advent was apparently the gift that just kept giving, and today it had decreed that Harry and he were to _**visit Ron and Hermione at Ottery St. Catchpole**_. Such a visit did, of course, mean that Harry and he were doomed to leave the marvellous cocoon of heat that was their home and, for Draco, that really wasn’t a viable use of their time _at all_.

Dropping their curtain, Draco turned and looked at Harry, hoping against hope that his face was as winsome and flirtatious as he imagined it might be. 

“An afternoon under our sheets would be a far better use of our time, _hmm_?” Draco purred, sidling up to Harry with an elegant sway of his hips. “Sharing our body heat, and so much more besides. With the judicious use of a few warming charms, well… This could be quite the afternoon to remember. It’s only what Ron would want-” 

Draco watched as Harry’s eyes glazed over with a sheen of lust as he moved in close; crowding his husband and wiggling seductively against his skin. 

“Slippery little Slytherin,” Harry murmured, groaning as he reluctantly pulled out of Draco’s grasp. “You know full well that Ron and ‘Mione will have been working flat out, cooking and cleaning ever since we firecalled them this morning. Trying to seduce me just to avoid the cold! Merlin. _Such_ a pampered princess.” 

“And it nearly worked too,” Draco pouted, aware that his jig was up. Occasionally Harry Potter really was far too good a man to be endured. “I just _abhor_ the cold, Harry. Can we please at least apparate to the Weasley abode? Or floo?” 

“The floo network is down,” Harry replied, lifting the curtains to cast his own eyes on the wintery world outside. “I just heard it on the Wireless. We’re not apparating either, love. If we do that, the Christmas cake and presents won’t make the trip in one piece. Let’s wrap up and make our trip the old fashioned way. We’re going to take a Portkey over to the Weasleys.” 

~@~ 

Draco thought about complaining, but once Harry got his mind set on a course of action there was often little that could be done to change his mind. 

Their gifts and cake were sent ahead by owl delivery while Harry and himself wrapped up to face the snowscape outside their door. 

Draco decided he didn’t want to take any chances with the icy weather. As well as the standard warming charm, the pair of them wrapped up in thick overcoats, their Hogwarts scarves and fleecy gloves. Warm boots finished their outfits, which caused Draco to grumble they looked more like snowmen than wizards. 

They stepped out of their door into a flurry of snow and silence. 

Thick flakes brushed against their faces and dusted their shoulders as they slowly made their way to the Portkey office. All around them London was muted and shadowed, like a storybook made real. Even the crunch of their own footsteps sounded alien to Draco’s ears. 

“It’s curiously attractive,” Draco said, his voice a mumble underneath his scarf. “All of this white. I feel like you and I are the only two wizards left in the world, Harry. I have to grudgingly admit that it is all rather romantic. Like we’re inside a Christmas card.” 

Hand in hand, the two of them continued their walk. 

But, when the pair of them arrived at their destination, would seem that the fates were finally on Draco’s side. The Portkey office was closed: the shutters were firmly locked and a sign had been magically affixed to the door. 

Harry read it aloud: ‘**_All Portkey travel is cancelled today. The Ministry of Magic recommends that individuals DO NOT travel unless it is absolutely necessary. Please heed our advice and return home immediately!_**’. 

“Well, that’s quite the clear message,” Harry said. Even though most of his face was wrapped up Draco could see his green eyes sparkling with arousal and mischief. “It wouldn’t be the done thing to argue with Ministry advice, Draco. I’ll scratch out a quick message and send it over to Ron’s by owl. They’ve got our _cake_ so it’s not like they’ll need _us_… You said something about an afternoon under the sheets-” 

“Sharing our body heat-” Draco smirked. 

“And using warming spells?” Harry finished, seizing hold of Draco and turning him in the direction of their home. “So what _are_ we waiting for, love? You said it yourself. We could make this quite the afternoon to remember.” 


	6. Christmas Cards

_Santa baby, bring a new cauldron for Harry, _  
_He’s been an awful good boy,_  
_Santa baby, apparate into Grimmauld tonight. _

_Santa baby, we’d like a Flying Ford Anglia too, light blue,_  
_Charmed to stay unobserved,_  
_Santa baby, apparate into Grimmauld tonight. _

~@~

It was the sixth day of Christmas and Draco’s Advent had decreed that today Harry and he would be writing _**Christmas cards**_. This was quite the most perfect activity as far as Draco was concerned. Christmas card writing meant that Harry and he didn’t have to go out into a still-snowy London. He would be free to laze around in his pyjamas, drink mulled wine and boss Harry about. 

Honestly? It sounded to Draco like a very fine use of his afternoon. 

Christmas cards weren't a tradition that Draco had grown up with. Truthfully, Christmas cards weren't really a wizarding custom. As a child, Draco’s Christmases had consisted of a series of stuffy dinner parties, each of them organised with a single objective in mind; namely impressing acquaintances, colleagues and stuffy distant relations with the number of Galleons in your vault. 

Christmas at the Manor had been a fine exercise for Lucius to win political favour and seek influence. Sending a card to a person just to be _gracious?_ Why would you ever bother with something so patiently pitiable? 

Well. As it had turned out, Draco’s Father had been wrong about quite a lot of things. 

Harry, the big-hearted buffoon that Draco had been lucky enough to marry, loved sending Christmas cards. Draco never failed to be surprised at the depths of Harry’s generosity of spirit. His husband’s cardinal rule was that everybody who might enjoy a card should receive one. Cards had become terribly popular within Wizarding London recent years precisely because of this reason: if the famous Harry Potter thought they were an endearing idea, then Christmas cards _must_ be sent. 

The only ones with reason to complain were the owls. 

“Who have you got on the list so far?” Draco asked, sitting down at the dinner table. He placed a steaming mug of mulled wine next to Harry and took a deep sip of his own. It was rich, spicy and delicious. Harry tapped the ink off the end of his quill and held up his parchment list.

“Ron and Hermione, George and Angelina, Charlie-”

“So far just the Weasleys then,” Draco teased. The whole idea of sending cards to people you saw on Christmas day still seemed a little odd to him, but Harry wouldn’t have stood for not sending out the cards. They made Harry happy so Draco wasn’t going to argue. “Anybody _not_ blessed with ginger hair and the fecundity to repopulate the planet?”

“There’s Luna, Dean and Seamus, Teddy and Andi. Lots of different people.” 

Harry smiled and held up his pile of cards. Draco narrowed his eyes at the glossy green cards. They were suspiciously blank. “I’m excited about our cards this year,” Harry said, holding one out for Draco to examine. “They’re a brand-new product from Wheezes… Basically a modified Howler combined with an enchanted photograph. All we have to do is charm a picture of us singing and-”

“Salazar, Potter!” Draco was appalled at the idea of singing to all their friends and relations. “You must be joking, love. I’ve no wish to share my singing voice with all of Wizarding London. What a gaudy, garish idea! Trust bloody George to think of it! I dread to think what my parents would say if they saw me caterwauling on the cover of a Christmas card!-”

“I know,” Harry snorted. “It’d be _hilarious_. Let’s do it, Draco. It’ll be worth it just to imagine Lucius’s expression when he opens the bloody envelope.” 

Draco had to laugh at that image. “Alright. I’ll do it on _one_ condition, Harry. I get to snog you senseless at the end of the song. It’ll be enough to give Father an apoplexy.”

~@~

_Santa honey, one thing that I really do need, the key,_  
_To a full Gringotts vault. _  
_Santa baby, apparate into Grimmauld tonight._

_Santa cutie, fill my stocking with Galleons and gold coin._  
_Sign your quill on the line. _  
_Santa baby, apparate into Grimmauld tonight._


	7. Visiting Hogwarts

It was funny, Draco thought, how the immense spaces of your childhood seemed to diminish as you got older. 

He remembered the nargles that had gathered in his stomach whenever he’d visited Father’s private office as a young child. Draco had been intimated whenever he had entered that room. Panic-stricken at the thought of whatever misdemeanour he’d been caught at red-handed. 

Draco remembered visiting their Elves, hunting secretly for sweets and treats whenever he’d gotten hungry. The Manor kitchens had seemed so vast and somehow impenetrable; a fortress of strange equipment and rules he hadn’t quite understood. Servant's quarters. Not for the likes of him. 

That first sight of the Great Hall at Hogwarts had filled Draco with a similar cacophony of emotions. He’d been so young then, so unformed and ignorant. A mouthpiece, spouting his Father’s opinions and never once understanding that there might be any other truth but that of Lucius’s words. 

Draco had felt so desperately homesick while he and the other First Years had been rowed across the Lake but he’d known better than to share his feelings aloud. Emotions were weak. Unacceptable. _Muggle_. Draco had been schooled in silence and he had learnt his lessons well. 

Draco remembered the hundreds of glowing candles. How they’d floated in midair above their seats. He remembered looking up at the teachers on their dais, too. Remembered that there had been a spasm of sheer terror at that moment, when Draco had thought of everything that was _expected_, all those lessons in which he was supposed to excel. The Quidditch team that he was _expected_ to join. The good Pureblood friends he was _expected_ to make. 

Draco was the Malfoy heir and nothing less that the best was expected of him. 

Draco remembered the velvety black of the ceiling and how it had been studded with stars. He’d struggled to believe that there really was a ceiling there at all. Draco had half-wished that it had been open to the heavens and he had longed to _Accio_ his broom and fly home to his Mother. Longed to fly back to the only comfort that he’d ever known. 

And now Draco sat waiting in that same Great Hall. 

Behind him, Harry was pressing kisses on the cheeks of his old teachers, shaking hands and promising to owl them when the new year began. The ceiling above him was still magnificent, the candles still flickered and it seemed to Draco that nothing had changed except he. 

Draco was twenty-seven now, and married to Harry Potter. Married to the love of his life. 

Today their Advent had set Harry and he the task of _**visiting Hogwarts**_ and flooing their presents to Hagrid, Neville and Minerva before staying for dinner. It had all been tremendously pleasant but Draco couldn’t help but itch to return home. 

The eleven year old boy that he’d been once had believed that succeeding Hogwarts was to be the pinnacle of his dreams; the greatest success of his life. This twenty-seven knew better. Hogwarts was only the very first page of his story. Harry and he still had a lifetime before them to enjoy together. 

“You alright?” Harry asked, bounding up to Draco and seizing his cold fingers within his own. He gave Draco a concerned, inquisitive look. “You looked contemplative just sat there, love. Looked worried. Bad memories?”

Draco gave Harry a small shake of his head. “No, no.” he said, standing. “I was just thinking how small the Hall seems now. I mean, compared to when we were kids. That little boy who was sorted Slytherin here… Well. That Draco could never have dreamt of the way his life would turn out. But I think, if he’d have known how happy he was going to be? I hope that he’d have been pleased.”


	8. Putting up the Decorations

Draco had to admit, on the most very rare of occasions he could be a difficult wizard to live with. 

He had high standards, could be terribly bossy and couldn’t abide anything but the best of anything. Childhood habits died hard, Draco supposed. 

Still, Draco knew that Harry loved him exactly as he was. 

“Don’t ever dare change,” Harry would say when Draco sent his tea back undrunk. Well, it wasn’t Draco’s fault he was unable to stomach the milky mess that his husband thought constituted a reasonable cuppa. “If you actually accepted your drink without comment I’d know you’d been cursed. Or replaced. Or _something_.

“Merlin forbid, I might want to drink red wine with fish,” Harry would mutter when they ate at _Le Poisson Rouge_. Well, it wasn’t Draco’s fault that Harry was a complete Neanderthal when it came to choosing a suitable wine. “Okay love, we’ll go with the white. If you actually let me pick without your help I’d know you’d been hexed. Or Polyjuiced. Or _something_.”

Draco smiled to himself. 

Harry knew that he had fastidious standards and that the very best way to have an easygoing life was to make sure those fastidious standards were met. Their Advent had proclaimed that today Harry and he were to spend their Christmassy time _**putting up decorations**_. If Draco had to live with them for a month, then they had to be absolutely perfect.

“A little to the left,” Draco complained, squinting at the tinsel that Harry had hung. “It isn’t _even_, Potter. You can’t expect me to look at that for-” 

Harry obeyed, and moved the tinsel a little to the left while also struggling to keep his balance tiptoeing on the chair. “Is that okay?” Harry grumbled, straightening up, “because I’m struggling to understand why you didn’t let me do this with my bloody wand. After all, you never stop reminding me that we’re _wizards!_” 

Draco lounged back on the settee and examined the scene in front of him. “As I recall, you’re the one always banging on about traditions at Christmas. I thought you could have the authentic Muggle experience, love… _No_… Too far left. A little to the right, please.” 

“Fine,” Harry hissed, begrudgingly moving the tinsel a little to the right. “Your wish, _husband darling_, is my command.” 

“Far too far to the right,” Draco cried, aghast. “I know you’re short-sighted but surely even _you_ can see that’s uneven. Left, please, Harry. _Chop chop_.” 

“I’ve hardly moved them,” Harry said, turning to look at Draco with narrowed eyes. “I’m starting to think that this is some sneaky Slytherin trick. I wouldn’t put it past you to have an ulterior bloody motive.” 

“Never,” Draco pouted. “Whatever motive could I have besides Advent festivities?! Now… Just a little more to the left-” 

Draco, of course, did have an ulterior motive. Harry’s pert, heaven-sent arse cheeks were lined up perfectly with his eyeline and all of Harry’s _little more to the lefts_ and _little more to the rights_ was giving him quite a show. Muggle jeans did have their compensations after all. Draco was determined to keep up this little game for as long as possible. 

If he were lucky, Draco reckoned that Harry was good for at least five more minutes of teasing. 

Really, it was a good job that Harry loved him so much. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! xxxx


End file.
